Lacing two pairs of beaten running shoes in the blistering California afternoon. Insects falling from the trees like dead leaves. Pressing away miles of asphalt between half-ragged breaths. Conversation filling the empty spaces between lives. Leftover radiation from last weeks bombing scarring the horizon. Rebuilding the lost art of conversation by breaking brittle eyes. No mawkish reverence or pretentious signaling. Just honest work and precious sweat and candid excoriation.

12:09 a.m. - 2019-06-18